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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982441">Unspeakable</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherco/pseuds/slytherco'>slytherco</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Casual Sex, Digital Art, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Friends With Benefits, Glamour Charms (Harry Potter), Harry Potter is a Tease, Himbo Harry Potter, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Invisibility Cloak (Harry Potter), M/M, Secret Identity, Semi-Public Sex, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, Unspeakable Harry Potter, Workplace Relationship, Workplace Sex, ass worship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:33:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,132</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982441</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherco/pseuds/slytherco</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a universal truth that Draco Malfoy is an Arse Man—he doesn't hide it, what is more, he considers himself an exceptional connoisseur of male buttocks of all kinds and shapes. A problem arises when Draco develops a small, healthy obsession with a pair that belongs to his Unspeakable partner whose identity Draco is not supposed to learn. When the man turns out to be none other than Harry Potter, back in England after a long and mysterious absence, Draco finds himself out of his depth when strange and unforeseen feelings slowly add themselves into the mix.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>484</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Drarry in the Dark prompt one—"I don't know his name, just his bum."</p><p>Or, my attempt to work prompts into a story written one chapter at a time.<br/>This fic is pure ridiculousness, I hope you have a laugh or two. </p><p>All beta credit goes to my lovely <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader/pseuds/shealwaysreads">Bella.</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Pansy, I’m telling you, it might be the best one I’ve ever seen, <em>by a mile</em>,” Draco, says, turning on the sofa to face his friend.</p><p>“Fine,” Pansy shakes her head, regarding Draco with scepticism. “I suppose you <em>are </em>an Arse Man, when all is said and done,” she says, thoughtful, as she sits curled up in Blaise’s large, velvet armchair. They’re both nursing a glass of wine each and Draco has just finished telling her about the Department of Mysteries’ latest employee acquisition. Or rather, an impressive <em>asset</em> of his. </p><p>“Correct,” Draco says with an air of authority. He did indeed have the expertise; eight long years spent ogling his fellow students in the Quidditch lockers (when he wasn’t busy doing a madman’s bidding) had made Draco quite an expert on the matter, and his new co-worker is a truly superb specimen. The Unspeakables switching from their usual haughty, vicar-ish robes to those tight black jackets was a true godsend, too (he religiously adjusts his own every morning, just a little on the snug side—alas, it has gone tragically unnoticed as of yet).</p><p>Draco has had a new partner for a few weeks now, and the man’s arse is one of undeniable beauty, pert and firm, and always tightly clad in a pair of delicious, albeit non-designer, black trousers. Those enticing buttocks have become Draco’s calling, the core of his obsession, and the air of mystery only adds to his fully-established fantasy of what exactly he would do with a handful of <em>that</em>.</p><p>It begs to be squeezed, and slapped, maybe even bitten, and Draco feels he’s the man for the job. And he would, if only it weren’t for the solid shell of numerous Glamours and Concealment Charms the Department insists on slapping over their employees’ faces on a daily basis.</p><p>Draco stares ahead with the empty gaze of a starving man and slowly shakes his head. “Merlin, I would gladly bury my face there and not come up for a week,” he says gravely, christening the statement with a gulp of wine. </p><p>Pansy makes a disgusted sound and Draco points his glass at her, the drink sloshing dangerously close to the edge. “Oh, don’t you give me that”—he mimics the sound with a grimace—“shite. You once made me listen to a, frankly <em>horrifying</em>, recount of Blaise eating you out in eighth year so I think we’re past the point of shame.”</p><p>“Still got it!” Blaise shouts from the kitchen, and Pansy laughs, and drinks to that. Draco rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Can we focus on me? This is a crisis,” Draco cuts in with irritation. “How do I fall into an illicit sex affair with my secret coworker if I can’t learn his identity? I don’t know his name, just his arse, and not nearly as well as I’d like to.”</p><p>“Well, you could try and talk to him,” Blaise says as he enters the room, Levitating a generously stacked charcuterie board and a new bottle of wine in front of him.</p><p>“<em>Or</em>,” Pansy says, snatching the bottle and looking at Blaise pointedly, “you could actually <em>not</em> put your cock where it shouldn’t go.” She uncorks the wine and puts her wand aside. “You’re going to get yourself fired.”</p><p>“See, there’s the catch,” Draco says wryly. “How would I know I worked with him, if I, say, <em>stumbled</em> upon him in a pub?”</p><p>“Yes, that’s brilliant,” Blaise nods, “<em>I’m sorry boss, I tripped and fell. On his cock. Fifty times</em>,” he says, mocking Draco’s posh drawl.</p><p>Pansy laughs, meanly, and Draco stares daggers at both his best friends, the memory of that mysterious, magnificent arse still fresh in his mind. For now, the plan is to wait and see.</p>
<hr/><p>The next day is a slow one; they’re mulling about the laboratory, and Draco can’t stop himself from stealing glances at his partner (or at least a certain part of him). He’s sweating under the collar and blames it on the heat and fumes, finally settling at a safe distance, leaning against one of the counters.</p><p>He absently sips on his lukewarm tea and picks up a wrinkled copy of the <em>Prophet</em>. It’s today’s edition, with a fat, obnoxious headline screaming <em>The Chosen One: back in England?</em>, adorned with a grainy picture of a dark silhouette going through a gate at Heathrow. Another, smaller one, shows the silhouette getting into a Muggle cab and both look like they’ve been taken out of Muggle security footage. The figure is suspiciously dark, given the lighting, as if the person cast a handy little charm, knowing they’d be recorded, and the media, in its glorious proficiency in jumping to conclusions, decided it must have been Potter for reasons unknown.</p><p>He flings the rag across the workbench, and his partner turns around. His face seems to be morphing before Draco’s very eyes, the intricate magic preventing him from peeking under the veil—he can <em>see</em> the man’s face but, at the same time, cannot picture it in his mind. Draco wonders if the rest of his physique is as enticing.</p><p>“Anything interesting?” The man asks conversationally. They don’t use names here, it’s forbidden. It’s encouraged to come up with aliases but they hadn’t had the talk yet.</p><p>“The usual,” Draco says in a bored tone. “Lies, drivel, and wanking over <em>Potter</em>.”</p><p>His partner perks up at that and summons the paper with a wave of his hand. <em>And powerful, too. Dear Merlin.</em></p><p>There’s a snort and the man speaks again. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? It doesn’t even look like him,” he says, skimming the article, and groans. “They always manage to mention the fact he’s single. And his arse, why is it always the arse?”</p><p>“It’s not that great of an arse,” Draco rolls his eyes and the statement is only a tiny lie. He prefers to pretend Potter was never an object of more than a few fantasies but it’s always been difficult to focus on the Snitch with the way he mounted a broom.</p><p>The Unspeakable chuckles. “You think so?”</p><p>“I’ve seen better,” Draco says, his voice dropping just a perfect amount—still perfectly reasonable but low enough for the man to read into it... if he wanted.</p><p>“Oh?” he asks quietly, and there it is, a note of careful, subtle interest in the way his voice wavers at the end, magically concealed or not.</p><p>Draco feels more than sees that he’s being watched. He huffs a quiet laugh and lifts himself off the counter. </p><p>Taking slow, measured steps, Draco comes closer behind his partner, ears almost ringing as he listens for any signs of someone coming. Just short of touching, he stops. The stranger smells like nutmeg, and something else, something that reminds Draco of ozone, of powerful, dormant magic, and something stirs under his belly. Lips stretching in a playful smile, he looks over one broad shoulder and plucks the paper out of the Unspeakable’s hands.</p><p>“Much better,” he whispers.</p><p>As Draco’s leaning forward, the man pushes back and rubs against him, making Draco hiss. And then, he’s spun around, pressed against the workbench, <em>hard</em>, and calloused fingers lock around his wrist, moving his hand to cup one of those perfect cheeks.</p><p>“I saw you watching. <em>Ogling</em>,” the Unspeakable whispers into his ear as Draco’s fingers instinctively dig into the firm flesh. <em>Gods, it’s flawless</em>.</p><p>“How…” Draco gasps, feeling the long, half-hard outline of the man’s cock press against his crotch.</p><p>A dark chuckle. “I can… resist the spells. For a short time,” he says, letting out another low laugh when Draco sneaks his other hand around and down his waist. The other arsecheek cannot remain unattended and Draco uses the leverage to slot their hips closer together.</p><p>“So you’ve been watching,” Draco whispers, his head spinning from the proximity of the concealment spellwork, or perhaps the proximity of <em>other things</em>, too. </p><p>“I caught a glimpse—” he says, and drags his nose up Draco’s neck. “But now I’m sure. And it, ah, <em>feels</em> we’re on the same page,” he huffs, rocking his hips.</p><p>“We could get in a lot of trouble,” Draco says weakly, already knowing trouble can go fuck itself it it means he gets to do this.</p><p>“You know bloody well we’re both familiar with trouble, don’t you?”</p><p>Something strange twists in Draco’s stomach, sets him on fire with some kind of stupid hope, a fleeting fantasy rearing its head as his breath speeds up.</p><p>“Say my name again like that,” the Unspeakable murmurs.</p><p>Draco’s heart stops.</p><p>“<em>Potter</em>.”</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Drarry in the Dark prompt 2—"He's such a himbo I can't take it."</p><p>Me neither, Draco.</p><p> </p><p>[<a href="https://slytherco.tumblr.com/post/645385747229196288/unspeakable">Tumblr post</a>]</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Potter.</p><p>
  <em>Harry Potter.</em>
</p><p>Turns out, Draco’s secret Unspeakable partner is Harry Potter.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Draco has started sleeping with his Unspeakable partner, Harry Potter.</p><p>Potter is not just powerful. Potter is <em>so powerful</em>, he can single-handedly lift heavy-duty, Unspeakable-grade Concealment Charms and on that first wretched day, Draco had found himself pressed against a sturdy workbench—confused, aroused, and looking into blazing green eyes for the first time in ten years.</p><p>Ever since the not-so-accidental Grand Reveal, Draco’s long-forgotten attraction to bloody Potter has resurfaced and subsequently skyrocketed, and in a completely undignified manner. It’s like puberty all over again, the whole package, along with inconvenient hard-ons and surprisingly short refractory periods.</p><p>And thirsting after Potter, obviously.</p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p>“It’s good to be back after all,” Potter had said after Draco stuttered his name upon discovering his identity. “For the record, I like your arse, too, Malfoy” he added with a playful wink. </p><p>Nothing had happened in the laboratory that day, except for a little teasing and an amount of light dry-humping that was not nearly enough. Draco was so distracted with Potter, his arse, and his voice, and a number of other things about him, he had almost spilt Erumpent Fluid all over the table if it weren’t for Potter himself. He was behind Draco in seconds, Seeker reflexes as sharp as ever, and expertly caught the offending beaker, unaware he had pinned Draco to the table with his whole body. </p><p>Unnecessary, scandalous, and inappropriately arousing. </p><p>If the faint outlines Draco could feel against his back were any indication, the rest of Potter’s body was built just as deliciously as his arse, and thank the Maker for chiselling that one out with some extra divine care.</p><p>They paused, and a shiver went down Draco’s spine when he felt Potter’s nose grazing the hairs at the back of his neck. The Concealment Spells were down again and Draco absently wondered where Potter’s signature suspiciousness had gone. As if the last ten years had somehow taken away the last ounce of self-preservation Potter possessed and he had suddenly decided it was a good idea to rut against his arch-enemy in the very bowels of the Ministry of Magic.</p><p>“You smell good,” Potter whispered, and chuckled at the indignant sound Draco made.</p><p>In the end, nothing had happened in the laboratory. Well, nothing the Department could have logically fired them for (Draco, at least, Potter could probably piss on the Minister’s desk and they’d give him another Order of Merlin for exceptional bravery).</p><p>“Take me home,” Potter said bluntly, two hours later, causing Draco to miss the hook he was hanging his lab coat on.</p><p>They’d just finished their shift and Draco turned around to see Potter without his Glamours again, looking at him with a smile that a regular person would have considered shy, almost boyish. Draco, however, knew the bastard was a hot, insufferable, sexy incubus and was going to be the death of him.</p><p>He shook his head quickly. “What did you just say?”</p><p>“Your place,” Potter repeated. “You have a flat, I presume? I heard Malfoy Manor was sold,” he shrugged. “I want to come over.”</p><p>Draco stared at Potter as if he had sprouted a second head. “Well, I say. And <em>why</em> would you want to come over?”</p><p>Potter bit his lip, peering at Draco from under his shaggy, black hair. “I thought we could… hang out,” he said and huffed out a laugh that had no right to be so attractive. “And I’d get the chance to ogle <em>you</em> for a change.”</p><p>“That’s your plan?”</p><p>“Is it working?” Potter asked earnestly.</p><p>Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, regretting every decision in his life that had led to this moment. “The Floo address is twenty-seven Argyll Road,” he muttered.</p><p>Potter let out a low whistle. “Posh.”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>“Shall we, then?”</p><p>“You will leave ten minutes after me. Don’t be late,” Draco said, turning around to hide his blush.</p><p>Potter lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “As you wish. I’ll be watching you leave,” he added with a smirk.</p><p>Roughly thirty-five minutes later, Draco was balls deep inside a moaning, sweat-drenched Potter, after barely having made it through a rushed drink. </p><p>He was ruined—Draco knew that from the first moment Potter’s lips touched his—completely, irrevocably, and beyond repair—because the only thing that would ever come close to fucking Harry Potter was getting fucked by Harry Potter. Both were accomplished that afternoon.</p><p>It probably wasn’t going to last. </p><p>When they had finally worn each other out, Potter told Draco nice things, like how gorgeous he was, and how he’d maybe wanted them to do that for some time. How it might’ve resolved their animosity sooner rather than later. It was as shocking as the fact Potter was a cuddler, and an enthusiastic one at that.</p><p>Draco didn’t know what to do with any of it so he decided to sort of hold it close to his chest and ride out the high until it would finally all slip through his fingers. </p><p>As one does.</p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p>Over the course of a mere two months, they fall into a strange sort of relationship where they amp up the tension at work, so high Draco can almost taste it at the back of his tongue, and then do hot and sinful things to one another afterwards. But it doesn’t always end in sex, and its occassional lack is far more concerning—going home together every other day veers dangerously close to being a couple and the only couple they are is a couple of horny, insatiable fools who will one day get caught or do something unbelievably, abysmally stupid.</p><p>They keep it up nonetheless.</p><p>Since it’s all started, Draco has learned a number of things about Potter, things varying from mundane to groundbreaking in their importance, things Potter gives away so easily, as if he almost <em>wants </em>Draco to learn them. Draco has been hopelessly lacking in ideas as to what to do with all that information so he just collects it, snapshots of different Potters already lined up in his memories. There’s first-year Potter and Triwizard Potter (the fact that the bloody dragon task was his sexual awakening is a piece of information Draco intends to take to his grave); Saviour Potter, post-war trials Potter and mystery missing Potter for the last few years.</p><p>Post-disappearance Potter is something different entirely.</p><p>Potter hasn’t really lost who he is at his very core—an insufferable prat with a saviour complex, annoyingly kind to children and the elderly, always delighted to sacrifice himself for those who require said saving. What is new, though, is the lack of that teenage awkwardness that had once leveled the field, and given Draco an impression of some kind of an upper hand in their day-to-day interactions. Draco has, obviously, always been a roguishly handsome, debonair young man and the years that passed had only further refined him into the sophisticated specimen he is now. Potter, however, has always been a tad lanky and somewhat clumsy and Draco finds his staggering transformation awfully unnerving. Potter’s demeanor used to make Draco want to taunt him, get a rise out of him, and nowadays, perhaps, he could be charmed enough to take a man like that for a spin, if only to teach him a thing or two, and shamelessly reap the benefits of his particular brand of bedroom education.</p><p>Though the tables aren’t exactly turned—maybe just a little crooked—Draco is still the one who’s ended up taking lessons, and dipping so much more than just his toes in the vast ocean of Harry Potter.</p><p>Potter is—for lack of a better word—a sexy fucking bastard. No part of him is lanky by any standard anymore (and Draco has both seen and assessed all his <em>parts</em>) and gone is his childish naïveté, replaced by something a little more grown-up and yet still vaguely familiar, only in a new, curious way.</p><p>Whatever Potter’s been doing while away, it has done wonders to his physique—he’s all broad shoulders and veiny forearms, trimmed waist, thick thighs, and that wretched pert arse of his. He looks every inch the superhero the wizarding world believes him to be, along with a beard and a mop of unruly hair that now somehow looks rakish rather than unkempt.</p><p>As a bonus, Draco had once learned (courtesy of Pansy and Blaise) the muscles at the juts of a man's hips are called ‘cum gutters’ but has never had the chance to observe them be <em>just that</em>. Not until Potter. </p><p>Draco is an avid fan of cum gutters now.</p><p>What really throws Draco off-balance, however, is the way Potter carries himself now. Gone are his <em>er</em>s and <em>umm</em>s, the bastard is smooth like the curves of his abs—it puts Draco in a very difficult position where he logically knows the things coming out of Potter’s mouth are rather blunt and lack a certain finesse Draco usually looks for and yet, it works like catnip every bloody time.</p><p>With his ridiculously perfect body, and stupid gorgeous eyes, and tacky pickup lines, Potter is such an utter himbo Draco can’t objectively take it, but that’s never been an issue since Potter is usually more than eager to be the one <em>taking it</em>. When he’s not, his magnificent arse hardens on every thrust as he takes Draco to pound town on the irregular nights Draco’s in the mood to lose the feeling in his legs. </p><p>While he looks like a model and is as gentle as a kitten, Potter’s not dumb, <em>per se</em>—it’s a kind of charming obliviousness and series of moments where it takes him a second to catch Draco’s convoluted meanings (and Draco doesn’t really blame the man, seeing as he’s a wizard not only with his wand, but also his cock <em>and </em>his words) and that’s apparently good enough for Draco to now be conditioned to get a semi when Potter asks ‘so, your place?’. </p><p>The nonsense that is going on with his heart, however, is a completely different story.</p><p>Compartmentalising things into numerical systems has always helped Draco get around and organise his thoughts into some semblance of order. It should have been a rather last-resort coping technique but one tends to abandon one’s standards when one ends up with an insane sack of flesh and bones as a housemate in their teenage years.</p><p>It’s how Draco copes, and it’s no-one’s business but his own.</p><p>On a universal, albeit slightly objectifying, scale of one to ten, Harry Potter is an eleven. That goes without saying—he’s dark and toned, with a hard, chiselled stomach, muscled thighs, and lickable biceps. Once Potter showed Draco how easily he can lift the Concealing Spells (for a short amount of time—he quickly loses focus as soon as Draco gets proper access to his lips), Draco learned his eyes glow a radiant juniper and turn nearly black when Potter is aroused or focused. There’s a handful of other shades—like the refreshing emerald when he wakes up (from the one time Potter caught Draco watching him sleep); there’s dim seaweed when he’s surrounded by potion fumes and takes down his spells to glance at Draco while he re-casts the Impervio on his glasses, and there’s a honey-gold tint just around his iris when he’s close enough to kiss (his eyes fall closed a second after and Draco feels it would be weird to ask for an open-eyed kiss, entirely too specific). It’s confusing to keep track of, and awfully distracting in general, so Draco sticks to numbers. </p><p>Potter is an eleven.</p><p>It’s been ten weeks since they started sleeping together and Merlin knows how many mind-blowing, toe-curling, sensual fucks that translates to. It’s a simple arrangement—they rile each other up at work and release the tension after, either at Draco’s flat or at Potter’s house on Grimmauld Place. Sometimes, they don’t make it to the bedroom and do it on the fluffy sheepskin rug Potter keeps in front of his hearth, as if specially for the occasion; sometimes, Draco ends up fucking Potter on his own, pristine kitchen counter, when the bastard is so worked up he simply strips right next to the wine cabinet. Watching Draco finish his water (he insists they hydrate before strenuous activities), Potter likes to lazily wank himself, stark naked, until Draco hurls his glass into the sink and throws himself at all the lush, warm body on display.</p><p>Draco is, tragically, still not immune to the power Potter’s arse seems to have over him—and Potter is more than happy to volunteer it up for Draco’s worship, whether it be his fingers, his tongue or his cock.</p><p>It’s a casual thing, and they never stay over. </p><p>Potter has stayed over nine times at Draco’s place, usually achieving it through wrapping himself around Draco’s slim frame <em>post-coitum</em>, and muttering about ‘not being done with him just yet’. The logistics of leaving for work the next day are absolutely not worth the trouble and Draco has still woken up at Potter’s place a total of eight times himself.</p><p>During those mornings, somehow frantic and unrushed at the same time, Potter had asked Draco to call him Harry seven times. The morning light makes his bronze skin glow, accentuating his freckles, and Draco nearly gives in every time (it doesn’t count when he says Harry’s name in bed, it doesn’t). </p><p>There had been six instances Draco had deemed close ones, where Potter had the audacity to take workplace teasing to an unacceptably high level. The man’s libido seems to be more of a steady thrum of lust reverberating along his body rather than a vessel that eventually would run empty. The ‘no sex at work’ rule is more of a given than something Draco would think needed to be carved in stone and, perhaps, that’s an error in his logic alone. Gryffindors in general, and Potter specifically, apparently do not distinguish between ‘allowed’ and ‘not explicitly forbidden’. </p><p>Potter wears his huge, ridiculous heart on his sleeve which resulted in a total of five times he told Draco he likes him. While Draco prefers to be rather careful with his emotions, always painfully aware of the weight that words can carry, Potter says things like that as if it were breathing, unabashedly playing with Draco’s hair, and kissing the tip of his nose, and making lemon red snapper for dinner because it’s Draco’s favourite. It should be disconcerting but Draco quickly forgets why when he’s busy casting protective spells all over Potter so that no important parts are lost to an unfortunate spill, while the bastard cooks naked, for Draco to taste and behold.</p><p>That brings Draco to four. Four times, Potter suggested they could grab some dinner and four times Draco played it down as teasing and distracted the man with assets other than food (although not impartial to some form of eating). In his vehement crusade against any form of emotion deeper than where his cock can reach, Draco had once made Potter come three times in one night; the image of him completely incoherent with pleasure now forever etched into Draco’s mind. He wanted to believe Potter really meant it, but the amount of couple-y things they’d been doing was already mind-boggling enough without the addition of dinner dates and staring at Potter’s smile for extended amounts of time.</p><p>There are two main outcomes Draco anticipates in the nearest future. He could break it off with Potter and live out the rest of his days knowing exactly what sound Potter makes when he’s about to come, and replay it in his head until he gets admitted to St. Mungo’s. The other outcome, just as plausible and even more terrifying, is that Draco will fall in love with Potter, like an absolute, complete fool and, subsequently, get his heart broken, quit his job, leave the country and live his days out as a recluse somewhere no-one will look for him, like the Arctic (Potter’s orgasm noises as the soundtrack included).</p><p>Only once has Draco thought it could perhaps become something more, something beyond calculation and lists. He always hastily suppresses thoughts like this for a number of reasons but mainly because good things have never been a particular abundance in Draco’s life so he takes it for what it is and keeps taking until Potter stops giving.</p><p>For now, Potter gives Draco his all.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>They’re mulling about the laboratory on a boring Wednesday afternoon, with Draco feeling restless and generally distracted, and Potter doing… Potter things. He walks around with a pout Draco wants to bite down on, frowns and squints at the equipment, and sucks on his quill entirely too vigorously over his paperwork, in the maladroit way Potter sometimes just <em>is</em>. Draco is endlessly infuriated with how endearing (as well as arousing) he really finds it. </p><p>It takes several more minutes of Draco quietly working on his potion of the day and Potter mindlessly flipping through heaps of parchment and then, Potter is slowly approaching him. The sound of his boot soles echoing on the stone floor alone manages to send a shiver down Draco’s spine.</p><p>Potter crosses the lab and stands way too close for it to be interpreted as required professional proximity between Unspeakables <em>who don’t know each other’s identities</em>. He smells incredible, even amongst the thick steam and clouds of fumes coming out of the cauldrons lined up on the workbench. Draco wonders if today is a day they go to his place right after work and do it against a wall. His cock gives a faint twitch at the prospect.</p><p>Down, boy. Work first.</p><p>Draco likes to think of himself as a new man, reborn from the ashes of his disreputable past, possessing an unbendable work ethic he scrupulously nurtures in order to obtain maximum personal achievement. All his carefully secured morals and principles, however, crumble into dust at the lightest touch of Harry Potter.</p><p>Potter, who’s currently trying to get even closer, nosing lightly at the nape of Draco’s neck and smiling at the light shiver it elicits.</p><p>“Hey,” he murmurs. Slowly, carefully, he plucks the stirring rod from Draco’s fingers and places it on the table, and turns him around.</p><p>He smiles when Draco graces him with a pointed look but still lets him prop his hands on the edge of the bench, on both sides of Draco’s hips.</p><p>“Hello,” Draco replies with a raised eyebrow that quickly curls into a frown when Potter palms him through his trousers. “You’re on the clock, Jezebel,” he says in a low tone, still baring his neck for Potter to mouth along the column of his throat.</p><p>Potter slowly advances until he has Draco slightly flushed and firmly pressed against his body. “But I’m horny,” he whines into the crook of Draco’s neck, rubbing their crotches together, and Draco flattens his palm against Potter’s sternum. The man has a serious issue with pushing Draco against furniture and Draco is hopelessly attracted to it.</p><p>“You’re always horny,” he huffs, wondering what on earth was in those case reports that got Potter so hot. It’s a little difficult to focus and Draco sometimes wonders how far Potter’s obliviousness actually goes, how much of it is his raging libido and actually wanting Draco, and how much is just a sly trick to get Draco worked up and ruin his entire life.</p><p>“And you’re wearing that cologne again,” Harry sighs, dragging his nose across Draco’s overheated skin.</p><p>“Potter—” </p><p>“Fuck me,” Harry whispers. “Come on, Draco, I know you want it,” he begs sweetly, grinding against Draco, each thrust crumbling his defences more and more, until Draco starts to respond, reluctantly meeting Potter’s hips with his own.</p><p>Bloody hell, he’s a spineless whore.</p><p>Draco makes a strangled sound and Potter, the bastard, grins and catches Draco’s lower lip between those perfect teeth. “Gods, you’re hard. Come on, give it to me.”</p><p>“We’re <em>not</em> fucking at work,” Draco says seriously, treating Potter with a patented death glare. The dry-humping makes for an excellent mid-work break but Potter’s lust clearly knows no limits so Draco has to be the responsible one.</p><p>Potter looks genuinely baffled and even looks down at Draco’s tented trousers. “Aren’t we?” He tilts his head and smiles. “Because you’re—” Draco hisses as Potter squeezes the bulge, damn him to hell. “—sending me some seriously mixed signals here.”</p><p>“Someone might come in,” Draco says weakly, a little impatient, already feeling his short-lived, stony resolve going all down to harden his treacherous cock.</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“<em>And</em>?! And see us <em>fucking</em>?!” Draco whisper-shouts as if the Minister of Magic himself would jump out of the utility cupboard any second.</p><p>Potter tongues the seam of his lips, slides inside his mouth, and Draco moans softly, hearing a soft rustle. Potter opens one of the drawers with a wave of his hand and a bunch of silky, shimmering fabric flies into his outstretched hand.</p><p>He grabs Draco by the front of his shirt, kisses him again, and starts dragging him towards one of the chairs in the further part of the room. Once Draco realises what Potter’s <em>completely insane, lunatic plan </em>is, he stops dead in his tracks.</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Draco says with horror in his voice. “Oh, <em>no</em>, Potter. That’s. No,” he shakes his head, eyes bugging out in shock. He wants to say Potter can’t be serious but, knowing what Draco already knows, he reckons Potter is absolutely, deadly serious.</p><p>“Shh,” Potter laughs softly, pushing Draco backwards and steering him to sit on the chair stood against the wall furthest from the entrance.</p><p>“Potter, are you out of your bloody—” Draco starts and is silenced with another searing-hot kiss. Potter climbs into his lap, straddling his hips, and Draco bites the inside of his lips trying not to moan. He hears a quiet rustle and the room around them vanishes behind a thin, glossy veil when Potter covers them both, head to toe, with his trusty Invisibility Cloak.</p><p>“Scared, Malfoy?” Potter asks, punctuating the question with a sharp stab of his hips.</p><p>“Fuck you—aah, ” Draco hisses, feeling their cocks rub through the fabric of their trousers.</p><p>“Yes, please,” Potter murmurs against his temple, smiling as Draco’s hands instinctively grab onto his hips.</p><p>Potter lifts his chin and licks into his mouth and in that moment, Draco knows there’s no going back.</p><p>He’s going to fuck Harry Potter in the laboratory, right in the middle of the Department of Mysteries. Merlin, take the wheel.</p><p>“Silencing—” Draco says and Harry covers his mouth with his hand.</p><p>“I’m already holding <em>both</em> our Concealers down,” he says seriously, a smile tugging at his lips. He fumbles with Draco’s belt with his free hand and Draco inhales sharply through his nose when his cock springs free from his open flies. Potter’s smiles like the Devil himself while still managing to make it look innocent. It never fails to get Draco’s cock wet. “And I’m too turned on to focus on a third.”</p><p>With that said, Potter Vanishes all of his own clothes and they both groan as the hard ridges of their cocks rub between their stomachs.</p><p>It’s insane, and so, so arousing, to have him completely nude, gorgeous, and wanting in his lap, Draco reckons he might as well lose his mind. Potter is all bronze, toned, and so utterly delicious, Draco throws the measly remnants of his self-control out of the proverbial window and starts responding in earnest.</p><p>“Bloody hell—you fucking sex-crazed maniac,” Draco rambles, trying to get a better angle, “you’re going to get us both fired—<em>ahh</em>!” </p><p>Potter kisses him, one, two, three times, wetting their lips, revelling in the wet slide, and the scratch of beard on stubble. “It’ll be quick,” he whispers.</p><p>“It’s never quick with you,” Draco says testily, and bites down on Harry’s lower lip, just because he can. He tastes like the treacle tart he had for lunch and Draco might just buy some later this week, if only to deceive his taste buds it’s still Potter lingering on his tongue.</p><p>“Then touch me,” Harry chuckles, and moves Draco’s hands lower, just like that first day.</p><p>Draco exhales and digs his fingers into the firm flesh. “Gods, your—” </p><p>“—my arse, I know,” Harry says, taking them both in his hand, hissing at the contact. “It’s all ready for you,” he purrs into Draco’s ear, guiding his fingers lower, down to the spot he wants them the most.</p><p>Draco jerks at the first touch of something warm and firm and immediately realises it’s <em>a plug</em>. Not a very large one, just enough to make Potter feel it and still leave him aching  for Draco’s cock. “Oh my— <em>Fuck</em>, Potter, you… You came to work like this?” He asks dazedly, fingers gently nudging the plug. He moves it around a bit, as much as he can at that angle, and Harry moans, his hand speeding up around their cocks. Draco arches into the touch, feeling his arousal slowly build, and absently thinks Harry needs to slow the fuck down if he wants that plug replaced with something larger, and much more appropriate at that.</p><p>“I—oh <em>fuck—</em>I<em> may </em>have slipped to the bathroom for a moment,” he whispers. “In the mo-<em>oh-</em>orning, shit!”  He groans as Draco finds the spot and angles the plug just so, nudging Harry’s prostate on every stuttered move. “Pull it out, fuck, pull it out, I want your cock, please—” </p><p>Slowly, careful not to hurt him, Draco pulls out the plug and shivers at how warm it is in his palm. He drops it to the floor, making a mental note to pick it up once they’re done, and rubs his index and middle finger over Potter’s loose, wet hole.</p><p>He’s magnificent—already lubed up and ready, cock wet and flushed a pretty red, and Draco groans, thinking how easily he’ll slip inside when Harry mounts him. Draco circles his hole and easily slips two fingers inside, shallowly pumping them in and out.</p><p>“Ohh,” Harry gasps, “that’s right, don’t stop,” he says, grabbing Draco by the hair and kissing him hard.</p><p>It never fails to render Draco speechless, to make him a pile of string-taut flesh and bones, the way Potter just loves getting fucked, how he’s desperate for it, how amazing he looks on his hands and knees, or with his legs wrapped around Draco’s waist, or spread over any given flat surface. He’s always so enthusiastic and demanding, and quite particular about it, too, so much so that he practically reduced Draco to a mere service top, doing Potter’s bidding and clinging to his own sanity, especially once Potter is adamant on getting his brains fucked out.</p><p>“Spread me,” Harry says like he’s asking Draco to pass the bloody salt, and Draco helplessly obliges, and holds his cheeks apart as Harry lifts himself up a little higher and reaches behind him to line up Draco’s cock. </p><p>He presses his tongue inside Draco’s mouth and sinks down on his cock in one fluid move, making them both groan into the kiss.</p><p>Just as Draco moves to touch him, Harry grabs his wrists. “Hands stay here,” he murmurs, putting Draco’s hands back on his hips. “Fuck, I love it when you push me down like that,” Harry whispers, and then, he starts to move.</p><p>Potter rides him on the sturdy chair with his very own brand of wild enthusiasm, legs propped up on the chair’s spindles. He lifts himself up and slams back down in a steady, dragging rhythm, and the way the muscles in his thighs pull and strain under his skin makes Draco’s mouth dry. Harry’s cock bobs between them, smearing precome over their stomachs and staining Draco’s shirt, and Potter gasps at the extra friction the fabric provides. </p><p>“You’re so thick,” he gasps as Draco helps guide his hips and thrusts up, their skin slapping on contact. “I love it, love it, Draco, <em>harder</em>—” </p><p>He’s panting into Draco’s mouth, sweat clinging to his chest and temples, hair falling into his eyes and Draco watches, completely drunk with lust, realising he’s been doomed for longer than he even knew. </p><p>“Just like that, don’t stop, <em>don’t stop</em>,” Harry groans into their kiss, and Draco murmurs soft encouragements, tells him how good he’s doing, how lovely he’s taking it, how gorgeous he looks impaled on his cock.</p><p>There’s a knock on the door.</p><p>Draco’s soul immediately vacates his fucking body and is gone forever as he freezes mid-thrust. His fingers dig into Harry’s hips so hard, he could nearly break the man’s pelvis, and Potter is <em>smiling</em>, a sure indicator he has lost his bloody mind after all, deciding to sacrifice all his himbo brainpower solely to the pursuit of sexual gratification.</p><p>Draco’s not even done opening his mouth (perhaps to whisper something, but more likely to gape at Potter in horror) when Harry springs into action.</p><p>“<em>Shh</em>! Shh, shh, shhh…” He slides his index and middle finger into Draco’s mouth, expertly shutting him up. There’s another knock on the door and Draco wonders if unemployment is better or worse than simply expiring with his still-hard cock buried inside the most perfect arse in the northern hemisphere. </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Potter is grinning with his mouth slightly parted and the only thing Draco has left to do is to suck on his fingers to stifle any sounds threatening to come out and expose their compromising position. He briefly considers whether falling on someone’s cock <em>could </em>ever be a viable excuse but only ends up with a feeling of irrational annoyance with Blaise and his outlandish statements. </p><p>The door slowly opens and a nameless Unspeakable ducks his Glamoured head inside, looking around the empty lab.</p><p>Well, empty <em>to him</em>.</p><p>It can’t be a social call—while not exactly discouraged, they aren’t very common in their line of work. It must be a simple checkup, their mystery co-worker must be looking for some missing reports, and damn Potter who puts his thirsty arse first and paperwork second. </p><p>The man, to Draco’s utter mortification and Potter’s clear amusement, lets himself in as if they were going to materialise out of thin air (and that vision is just more nightmare fuel, thank you very much). Draco curses his life and the lunatic who’s used the word ‘mysteries’ when naming the department since the definition of privacy in these cursed dungeons is flexible at best.</p><p>And then, there’s Potter. Potter, whose eyes are nearly black, who’s still hard as rock and leaking down Draco’s shirt, who, Draco suddenly realises, is very much <em>turned on by this</em>. </p><p>In other circumstances, Draco could perhaps see the appeal, the threat of being discovered, the knowledge they’re doing something dirty, and wrong, and <em>forbidden, </em>but something that feels so good, they just can’t resist the temptation. Potter’s fingers pump in and out of his mouth and Draco has to stifle a needy whimper each time Potter’s hips stutter ever so slightly. The bloody maniac isn’t <em>stopping</em>, and Draco just gives in, twirling his tongue between the digits, starts to slowly suck on them, and in this position, he couldn’t go limp even if he tried, not with the way Potter’s hole gives his cock little tantalising squeezes, one, and another, and another.</p><p>He’s breathing heavily through his nose, desperately trying to calm the fuck down.</p><p>“Hello, anyone here?” A disembodied voice muffled by magic echoes across the lab. The Unspeakable’s footsteps are getting closer and Potter pinches Draco’s nipple with his free hand, the absolute prat, and moves his fingers so Draco can breathe through his mouth, more quietly. </p><p>They can see their faceless coworker come around the corner through the glossy veil of the Cloak and Potter’s mouth falls open in a slight smile as he smears saliva all over Draco’s kiss-swollen lips. Draco, still trying to control his breathing, chases the touch with his tongue as Potter traces the shape of his mouth with filthy-wet fingers.</p><p>Potter’s watching him, biting his lip, and Draco’s too incoherent to freak out about someone <em>roaming their laboratory</em> while they’re having sex maybe fifteen feet away. He’s clutching at Harry so hard it’ll probably leave bruises; all Draco can focus on are the most acute sensations—the deadly silence ringing in his ears, his cock throbbing in Potter’s arse, fingers massaging his tongue, and the stunning emerald of Potter’s wicked eyes, nearly all swallowed by pupil.</p><p>Their eyes follow the man’s movements; he takes a look into one of the bubbling cauldrons, precautionarily put under a Stasis by Draco, right before Potter decided to start the domino effect of events that led them to their possible doom. The unspeakable takes one more helpless look around, turns on his heel, and leaves.</p><p>As soon as the heavy oak door slams shut, Draco’s blood boils. </p><p>It was a close one, a very<em>, very </em>close one, they were a hair’s breadth from being discovered and some insane, repressed part of Draco’s brain finds that extremely, unbearably hot—that they never stopped what they were doing, that they are both still hard, and that Potter’s looking at him like he wants to <em>devour</em>. </p><p>Draco adjusts his grip on Potter’s already bruising hips, shifts underneath his weight, and slams up into him with all the strength he can muster, impaling him deeper in one swift move.</p><p>The thrust is so hard it punches the breath out of him, and Harry immediately puts his fist over his mouth to stifle his scream. Draco takes advantage of the moment. He pulls out his wand, quickly casts an industrial-grade Silencing spell and carelessly throws it to the floor.</p><p>He grabs Harry by the neck and pulls him down for a furious kiss. “You,” Draco breathes when they part, spit-slick and panting, “are going to regret this.”</p><p>Draco starts fucking him, hard and fast, already feeling his thighs are going to hurt like a motherfucker tomorrow morning. He’s pushing Harry down onto his cock just the way he loves it and with the Silencing Spell in place, Harry doesn’t have to hold back anymore—he moans and shouts, and lets out a series of sounds that will fuel Draco’s inappropriately-timed daydreams, possibly for years to come.</p><p>At one point Harry starts to shudder and limply falls forward, biting down on Draco’s clothed shoulder. “M’close,” he whimpers, head bouncing against Draco’s neck. “I’m close, so close, don’t stop—”</p><p>Draco reaches between them to touch Harry’s cock but Harry quickly grabs his hands and puts them back where they were. “Like this,” he breathes, “Just your cock, harder, ah, <em>ah</em>,<em> ah</em>—”</p><p>Harry clenches around him, once, twice, and then, he’s coming all over their stomachs, completely untouched, his red, wet cock spurting white across Draco’s pristine shirt. It only takes three more pushes and Draco follows, pressing Harry down as he comes inside him.</p><p>He collapses on top of Draco and Draco, surprisingly, doesn’t mind the warm, solid weight, and even his own come dribbling out of Harry’s arse and down his softening cock still sheathed inside him. Potter smells like sex and sweat and Draco swears to never come near a bottle of Amortentia, surmising it shall be a special case where ignorance is, indeed, bliss.</p><p>Harry kisses him, cupping his face in both hands and spells his clothes back on with a thought, something Draco is begrudgingly impressed by, considering he’s just rocked Potter’s world so hard, his thighs are still shivering. </p><p>“Draco,” he murmurs.</p><p>“Hmm?” Draco hums around his lips. </p><p>“I want to come clean.”</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Later that day, Potter comes over for round two. They fight about it a little, Draco says a few nasty things he doesn't really mean, and the errors of his ways are shown to him so clearly, he won't be able to properly sit for at least a day.</p><p>Draco cannot fathom why on earth Potter would want to go to their boss, of all people, and just come forward with a casual ‘by the way, we’ve been fucking for months’. The very thought makes his hands sweat—they both know bloody well the head of the department isn’t one for breaking any rules, no matter if it’s Harry Potter or if Merlin himself rose from the dead. So, instead of having a conversation, Potter takes a more physical approach to present his arguments and Draco wholeheartedly agrees once he’s thoroughly reminded what’s at stake.</p><p>Afterwards, they lie in bed, and the setting sun swiftly turns an after-work fuck into yet another sleepover, with Potter draped over him like he might vanish at any second, and with Draco’s thoughts still somewhat scrambled.</p><p>“Why, though?” He asks as if they never stopped arguing.</p><p>“Would you rather stop?” Harry asks, running his hand up and down Draco’s chest. His hands are big, warm, and rough, and Draco hums quietly.</p><p>“Point.”</p><p>Potter chuckles softly. “Tomorrow.”</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>If someone asked how Draco let it go so far he’s in this situation, he’d probably sign off his Mungo’s paperwork himself.</p><p>“You <em>promised</em> me.”</p><p>Their boss is currently focused solely on Potter, thank fuck, and Draco tries to do a thing he rarely ever does anymore, which is appear as small and invisible as physically possible in a small space. He thinks back to his job interview and wonders how on earth he got it in the first place.</p><p>The head of the Department of Mysteries is terrifying when upset.</p><p>Potter is silent, looking at their boss with what’s supposed to be puppy eyes but only reminds Draco of a teenage student reprimanded for being out of bed after curfew.</p><p>He finally breaks the silence. “I did,” he sighs. “But you never said what <em>trouble</em> you meant—”</p><p>“Do you have any idea how many strings I pulled to have you hired without an Unbreakable?” </p><p>Draco perks up at that. He completely forgot Potter should technically be dead after he had groped him in the lab for the first time. Unease radiates off Potter in waves and Draco stays silent and keeps sweating profusely; his muscles are clenched so tight his arse might as well swallow itself and it’s not pretty.</p><p>“Harry, you’re— <em>Involved</em> with another Unspeakable, and it’s <em>Draco Malfoy of all people</em>; you lifted the Concealment Charms and you’re now asking me to, what? Keep this quiet and let you—pursue this?” </p><p>Potter sighs again and comes closer—under copious layers of horror Draco is begrudgingly impressed with the man’s cheek. He puts a calming hand on their boss’ shoulder.</p><p>“‘Mione, love,” he says quietly. “We’re Unspeakables. We keep secrets for a living. What’s one more secret, yeah?”</p><p>Draco cannot believe the scene happening before his eyes. Hermione Granger-Weasley, the youngest department head in the last 118 years, gives Potter a weak smile and shakes her head in a way that looks almost <em>fond</em>. </p><p>“You haven’t really changed, have you?” She asks.</p><p>“Not where it matters,” he replies with a grin.</p><p>Granger turns to Draco and Draco straightens, ready for whatever’s to come. “Just for the record, I won’t blame you for Harry’s recklessness. I expect you two can keep this under wraps at work?”</p><p>Draco can only nod curtly.</p><p>She doesn’t acknowledge him anymore and turns back to Harry. “If this gets out—”</p><p>“It won’t,” he interrupts. “Thank you.”</p><p>“I should transfer you both.”</p><p>Potter smiles shyly. “You won’t, though.”</p><p>“Don’t make me regret it,” she shakes her head.</p><p>“At least we’re good at our jobs?” He tries.</p><p>“You better be,” Granger says but it doesn’t sound ominous. She pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a deep sigh. “Meeting over, boys.”</p><p>“Thank you, ‘Mione,” Harry says and Draco nods, making eye contact with her. She looks at him with more curiosity than anger and Draco wonders if he missed something vital and unspoken in their exchange.</p><p>Later that night, he still thinks about it as he slowly cards his fingers through Potter’s hair. The man is blissfully asleep and Draco briefly wishes for things to, just this once, stay as they are.</p><p>Potter wraps himself tighter around Draco’s waist.</p>
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